𝙽𝚢𝚌𝚝𝚘𝚙𝚑𝚒𝚕𝚕𝚒𝚊 {𝙳𝚂𝙼𝙿𝚇𝚁𝙴𝙰𝙳𝙴𝚁}

𝟺. 𝚃𝚑𝚎 𝙲𝚊𝚕𝚕 𝚘𝚏 𝙱𝚕𝚘𝚘𝚍

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I jumped from my cot desperately trying to untangle myself from the warm sheets that felt too much like Wilbur's hold. My hand flew to my neck trying to reconcile where I was, that there was no hand closed around my collar.

It took me a minute to look around and remember my circumstances. From the light peeking behind the curtains It was early. Cool damp air wafted through the ajar window flooding my senses with information. I could feel it. Spiders still roamed close by stalking.

Eret and I used to have secret sleepovers in this very room. After a particularly draining training day with Wil, Eret had snuck himself into her cabin looking to talk. I could almost feel that particular training's marks now.

Raw skin lined my wrists, a token from Wilbur's escape lesson. He tied me to a chair, gave me the questions he was certain Dream would ask, he drilled me on locations/secrets/weaponry.

I didn't offer up anything in practice, mostly in fear of what Wilbur would do in retaliation. The retaliation in being if I gave up my friends, my family, he would never forgive me. Or at least that was what I was told.

But after I held up in interrogation refraining from making snarky remarks or attitude, he taught me the art of escape. He tied me and untied me again, my wrists aching from the constant movement.

Fishermans knots, square knots, the figure eight. Anything and everything. By the end of the day though my wrists were red, I had almost mastered it. But one memory of that day stuck out, a pane of colored glass reflecting her agony. I swallowed at the past action, one that was not mine.

➸➸➸

2 years ago, L'manburg, eastern training facility

The president clutched my hands behind my back, moving my fingers to display the movement I would have to make to get out. He was mumbling to himself, carefully maneuvering my hands around a rope. I couldn't see what he was doing of course. The man wanted the full experience for me.

I quite literally had a sack over my head.

I could sense him though, I understood his movements, heartbeat, his tics. Ive learned alot about him in these past weeks more the physical than mental. He would clench his jaw in anger. He ran his tongue over his teeth in jealousy.

After showing me what I would have to do to escape, he didn't wait for confirmation. Thick binds suddenly snatched against my wrists and I felt the awful urge to freak out.

"Now," he started. I felt the wind stretch and curve around my skin, he must be moving in front of me. His voice held pity, but there was no hesitation. "There was something I didn't mention about this exercise."

My swallow was sandpaper. I laughed nervously, the childlike nature not stripped from me just yet. "What do you mean Wilbur?" He didn't say anything. Nothing at all as the wind shifted again, a dangerous air to it now.

"Wil?" This was the first time I had called him by a nickname, but I was suddenly scared by the silence that I usually craved. Wind clamped down on my throat.

He didn't answer with words. Only the grip of my hands behind me, now wrapped in rope. I hissed as he pulled them a certain way for a better grip. "Wil what are y-"

A snap echoed across the courtyard, bouncing off of the cement flooring, the pillars around us almost shaking with recognition of a scream. Hundreds of legs of hundreds of spiders stiffened in alarm.